Cold Morning

It should be Sunday.  There should be funnies, and eggs.  I am new, wrapped in warm morning thoughts.  Then I begin to remember, and after a while again to forget.  I miss the things I used to love, and I don't know where they've gone.  I think about running, how I never remember what it feels like until I go.  I suppose it can be the same with singing, or with anything, but I feel as though some part of my soul has been erased.  I missed the recycling again.  Absence of possibility.  Three words might create a positive space but not today.  Today I must go to work, set myself to something I can't truly respect.  Another dime, a dozen.  I'll buy something today, another tiny fixture for this doll's house of mine.  Last snooze.  I roll over, pull myself up and despite the nervy twinges all over I am happy to be in my body, glad for my arms and legs and my bare feet on the floor.  Grapefruit juice.  There is a peachy light on the snow in the backyard, and I walk to the front door and press my nose to the small window, to see the glow of the sun between the houses across the street.  I'll settle for coffee with milk, and a spoonful of something sweet.  Nothing fell on my head this morning.  Time to get dressed.